


Seventeen

by ThePancakePenguin



Series: Markings Made On My Skin [4]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Blurryface, Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:21:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8551402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePancakePenguin/pseuds/ThePancakePenguin
Summary: Tyler begins to write.





	

Owen keeps him company and is his audience. His once random taps now have gained patterns, silly tunes only he and his little friend will ever hear. Humming his made up melodies during class is a good distraction from actually getting work done. Instead of doodling in his notebook, he writes out musical notes in his margins and tests them as soon as he gets home instead of doing his homework.

Soon, those single letters become words.

He never thought himself to be very creative, and he guards the short sentences scrawled on loose leaf papers with his the entirety _meaningless life._ If one of his peers were to discover them, he would be mocked, and if someone from the staff found them he'd probably be placed on some sort of 24/7 watch.

A poster child basketball player asking for someone to save him from his own head this close to graduation defiantly wouldn't go over well with the counselors.

He's been saving up money to buy the cheapest forms of recording equipment he can so he won't just have to rely on memory when he decides to play one of his own songs. Trying to decide which one to record first is challenging. Half of them he's forgotten, and the ones he remembers aren't the most innocent.

He realizes that last part doesn't matter. No one  _real_  besides himself will hear these, and the whispers may be out to get him, but they are pretty good listeners when it counts. He's already got a fan in the form of a ratty toy as well.

He stretches his sticky vocal chords in the dankness of his basement one night after dinner. It takes him a few tries to get it the way he wants it, and listening to his own voice is too strange, so he auto tunes it as much as possible.

He nearly laughs as he listens to it again. He was singing about silence.

He has no idea what silence even sounds like.

 


End file.
